Not the Same Old Lang Syne
by J9
Summary: Sara's always hated New Year's Eve...


****

Title: Not the Same Old Lang Syne

****

Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

****

Rating: PG

****

Pairing: Sara/Warrick

****

Spoilers: I've seen up to _Organ Grinder_ and am spoiled for what's gone on in season three up to this; but there's nothing huge. 

****

Feedback: Makes my day

****

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

****

Archive: At my site Checkmate (http://helsinkibaby.topcities.com/csi/csific.htm) , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

****

Summary: Sara's always hated New Year's Eve…

***

She's hated New Year's Eve for as long as she can remember. It just doesn't make sense to her; never has. To her, it's nothing more than another ordinary day; midnight comes and midnight goes, and the fact that an extra digit gets added on to the date doesn't make it a cause for celebration, not in her book. She doesn't understand why people get so excited about it, why it's such a big deal. 

Her parents tried to explain it to her every year when they threw the doors of the B&B open to everybody in Tamales Bay, told her that it was a celebration of making it through another year, and a way of ushering in the new, hoping that it would be good to them. Somehow though, when she found her home overrun by drunken strangers, when she got no sleep at all that night (indeed, if she found her bedroom unoccupied), when she got the job of spending all the next day cleaning up the house, she didn't quite see the charm in that particular notion. 

Things didn't get any better in college, when the world and his wife came back from their Christmas holidays specifically to have a New Year's Eve party. The first year that she was at Harvard, she tried to enter into the spirit of things, and her parents, pleased that she was going to a party of any sort, didn't object to her going back early. Once at the party though, she did what everyone else was doing, drank and danced and participated in the countdown. But she didn't seem to feel the same joy that was in everyone else's face and eyes, and the next day, when she was sick as a dog with the worst hangover of her life, she swore "never again" and she meant it. 

The next year, she was the designated driver, which meant that no-one put any pressure on her to drink, but she discovered that being the only sober person in the party at midnight was no fun either, and as she tried to get her friends into the car in the wee small hours of the morning, those that she was able to find that is, she swore "never again" and she meant it. 

All the New Year's Eves since have been spent working, and she didn't plan on breaking the habit this year. For one thing, the overtime was always welcome. For another, she'd accrued more favours and gratitude from swapping shifts with people than she knew what to do with. It also didn't hurt that everyone else seemed to hate working that night, and thus, her bad mood from hating the day wasn't out of place, was never commented on. 

She wasn't supposed to be working on New Year's Eve. As far as the roster was concerned, it was her night off. At least, it was until she heard Nick complain about having to work that night, and she grinned to herself, waiting until she got him on his own to make him an offer she knew he wouldn't refuse.

"You're serious?" he'd asked, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised, and she could almost hear his mind whirring as he tried to work out the angles. "Why are you being so generous all of a sudden?"

She'd shrugged, affecting nonchalance. "I just have no interest in negotiating the Las Vegas nightlife on New Year's Eve," she'd told him simply, and he'd narrowed his eyes, as if he wasn't sure if he could believe her or not. She'd shrugged again when he hadn't said anything, making as if she was going to move away from him. "If you don't want to swap nights with me, that's fine…" She was moving away, her back to him, when she added, "I'm sure someone else-"

That's as far as he'd let her get. "Don't do that," he'd said, and she'd stopped walking, making sure to wipe the smile off her face before she'd turned back to him to negotiate terms, letting him know that she didn't want anything in return, just to remember that he owed her one. 

Of course, she reflects now, it's surely ironic that having swapped shifts specifically to avoid the Las Vegas nightlife, she now finds herself walking down the Strip at five minutes to midnight, in pursuit of a lead in the case that she and Warrick are working on. A lead which they're following from casino to casino, just missing the guy at every turn, and that frustration, coupled with the difficulty of wading through a heaving throng of people is putting her even more on edge than she ordinarily might be on New Year's Eve. "I could be at home with a good book right now," she grumbles, mostly to herself, but Warrick hears her. He hears everything. 

"And I could be out enjoying myself… if someone had offered to swap shifts with me that is," he grumbles good-naturedly, shoulder bumping against hers, either in jest, or because someone has jostled him, she's not sure. Either way, she just shoots him a look, and he gives her that easy going grin of his, tilting his head as he looks at her. "C'mon, you're not enjoying my company?"

Against all odds, that makes a small smile come to her face, because she certainly is. It's a constant surprise to her how easy it is to be around Warrick, considering how they'd got along when they first met. They've managed to overcome their difficulties, forged a friendship, a relationship different to any other in her life right now. He seems to have the knack of knowing when she needs to talk, even if she doesn't want to, and what's more, he also has the knack of drawing her into conversation, making her talk without her even realising that that's what she's doing. He listens, and he offers advice, and sometimes he'll just say something that makes her laugh, makes her feel better. He might tease her, about work and about personal stuff, but he knows when to draw the line, when to stop. What's more, they work well together on cases; once they got over their mutual distrust of one another, their different styles had proved complimentary, and a bond of respect had grown up between them. He respects her, doesn't try to change her, doesn't try to impose his views upon her; he just accepts her as she is and walks beside her, the strong silent type. 

It's a welcome change from all the other men in her life she realises. Hank wants to be her boyfriend, and while she thinks he was a nice guy, sometimes she thinks that he's almost too attentive to her, that he thinks that she's too perfect. He only ever sees the best in her, and while that's not a bad thing, his apparent refusal to see any bad in her whatsoever is starting to get on her nerves. She likes him as a friend, but he wants more than that, and while once upon a time, she thought that it might happen for them, she knows better now. She just doesn't know how to clue him in on that. 

Much simpler than that are her relationships with Nick and Greg. Nick is like a brother to her; they have that kind of sibling relationship where they can each tease the other, and do so mercilessly, but she knows that when the chips are down, she can count on him for anything, and that she'd do anything for him too. Her relationship with Greg runs along similar lines; he's like her brother's best friend, the one with whom she would banter and tease; the one who might have a little bit of a crush on her. Either that, or he's the bratty little brother who drives her crazy, but who would worships the ground she walks on, who would do anything for her. 

Her relationship with Grissom is more complex; part father figure, part object of her affection, she's long since come to the conclusion that nothing is ever going to happen between them. Attractive as the man might be, attracted as she is to him, he has walls of titanium built around his heart, and she doesn't know if she'd ever be able to break through them; and more and more, she's found herself wondering if she really wants to try. There were times when she'd convince herself that she wasn't going to entertain any such girlish notions anymore, that she was going to forget all about Gil Grissom. Then he'd turn to her and give her one of those grins, or throw some offhanded comment at her, the kind that made her look and him and wonder what the hell he meant by it, and she'd be right back to square one again.

She might hate New Year's Eve she tells herself as she walks along beside Warrick, but it's a perfect time for new starts, to make those hated New Year's resolutions, and she suddenly knew what hers is. No more mooning over Gil Grissom, she tells herself firmly. It's time to move on. 

Warrick's shoulder bumps against hers again, startling her out of her thoughts, and she realises that she hasn't answered him. "Your company is fine," she tells him, half-grinning and half grimacing as she looks around her. "It's the million other people that I can do without."

"Yeah." Warrick looks around him too, lips pursing in disgust, then looks at his watch. "Next time we have to track someone down on New Year's Eve, remind me that we should wait 'til _after _the clock strikes."

"You got it," she says, barely getting the words out before the breath is knocked out of her as a gang of revellers, none too steady on their feet and not looking where they were going, bang into her, almost sending her flying. Only Warrick's quick reflexes save her, one arm going around her waist, the other grabbing her arm, holding her up. 

"You ok?" he asks her, not letting her go until she is standing up again, and even then not letting her go, because she can't catch her breath at first, one hand going to her chest, the other gripping his arm tightly. 

"I'm fine," she tells him after a couple of seconds, feeling guilty at the worry that she sees shining from his clear green eyes. Straightening up, she takes a deep breath experimentally, then another one. "Apart from feeling like I just got hit by the Oakland Raiders' defensive line…" 

Her feeble joke doesn't take away any of the worry from his features, nor does it make him let her go. "On the real?" he asks, looking down at her, brow furrowed. "You're ok?"

She smiles at him, hand moving from her chest to his, a gesture of reassurance that becomes rather more intimate when another surge of revellers join the crowd already on the street, pressing them closer to one another. "I'm ok," she tells him, surprised at how her voice catches in her throat, at how her heart is suddenly hammering in her chest. It's just Warrick, she tells herself. 

"That's good," he says, his hand moving up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and she can hardly hear him over the noise of her heart and the noise of the crowd. "Wouldn't want you getting hurt on my watch…"

His voice trails off as a flash of guilt illuminates his eyes, and she knows that he wasn't just talking about her, and he wasn't just talking about then. She wants to reassure him, to tell him that she really was fine, and that it's not his fault that the Strip resembled an oversized mosh pit, but when she opens her mouth to speak, she's drowned out by the sound of chanting voices. 

"Ten… nine… eight…"

"The countdown," she says instead, stepping closer to Warrick without even being aware of it, looking at the giant clock above one of the casinos, watching the seconds count down. It dawns on her that there was no point moving right then, that they might as well stay where they are, and the same thing must have occurred to Warrick, because he tightens his grip on her, his other arm also going around her waist. 

"Seven…six…five…"

She turns her head to look at him when she feel that, her face a question, and he shrugs, once more giving her that easy going grin of his. It had made her smile a couple of minutes ago, now it just doubles the speed of her already racing heart, and her stomach flip-flops pleasantly. "Wouldn't want to lose you," he says, bringing his lips closer to her ear so that she can hear him, and when he draws away from him, she lifts an eyebrow almost challengingly at him. 

"Not much chance of that," is her response, and he lifts an eyebrow too, accepting her challenge, issuing her with one of his own. 

"Four… three…"

"That a fact?" he drawls, and she can barely hear him as the excitement builds in the air, and for the first time ever in her life, on this accursed day, she feels a tingle of excitement run up and down her spine. 

"Two…"

She can only nod, placing her hands on his shoulders, not sure of what she's doing, a part of her brain screaming at her to stop, a larger part telling her to keep right on going. 

"One…"

The larger part wins out as she slides her hands up further, linking them at the back of his neck, and almost imperceptibly he presses her closer to him, their lower bodies flush against one another.

"Happy New Year!"

They stay frozen like that for a few seconds as madness erupts around them, an oasis of stillness in a sea of celebration. All around them, people are hugging, kissing, singing along to the piped strains of "Auld Lang Syne" echoing from speakers placed all along the Strip. 

He looks from one side to the other at the kissing couples, then down at her, and he moves one shoulder up and down like he's asking for permission. "Tradition," he tells her, and she grins at him, a wicked grin that he returns. 

"Who are we to break tradition?" she asks, even as she knows that she's breaking her own personal tradition of not having a good time. She's stands on her toes, drawing his lips to hers, and if her heart was hammering before, it seems to stop for a moment at first contact, before starting back up again, at a normal pace, albeit in an erratic rhythm. 

The first chorus of the song is finished by the time they pull apart from one another, but the song plays on, going into the second verse, and people not knowing the other verses just sing the words of the first again, and continue to do so until the end of the recording. Neither Sara nor Warrick notice though, nor does anyone attempt to come between the couple moving slowly to the music in one another's arms. The part of Sara's mind that told her kissing him was a bad idea is now telling her that they're on company time, that they should be working on finding their lead, but once again, that part is pushed to one side. 

"So," he asks finally, his smile turning teasing. "Still hate New Year's Eve?"

She's tempted to say yes, just to see the look on his face, but she doesn't. Instead, she looks up at the stars above them, at the happy faces around him, before finally settling her gaze on him. "It's not so bad," she tells him, and he throws his head back and laughs, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around. She laughs too, tightening her grip on him and burying her head in his neck, thinking for the first time ever that the New Year might just be a happy one. 

It's certainly got off to a good start. 


End file.
